Four Hours, Fifteen People, and a Lot of Dishes

The First Days of Demolition

After months of praying, designing and redesigning, interviewing contractors, and sitting with decisions longer than I ever imagined, the final “yes” came quietly—but decisively. On

the choice was made to move forward.

That moment set everything else in motion.

The following Monday, I met with Ray, my general contractor, and together we decided demolition would begin on Monday, December 8th. There was only one small problem: I didn’t have one single thing packed.

Not a drawer.

Not a closet.

Not a cabinet.

So I did what you do when you’re standing at the edge of something too big to manage alone—I asked for help. I sent out a plea on social media and reached out to family friends and my church family, not knowing what to expect.

On the Sunday before demolition was set to begin, fifteen people showed up.

In a matter of hours, they helped empty nearly the entire house—every room except three bedrooms and one bathroom at the back. Those spaces would become my temporary refuge for the next season.

The master bedroom became storage for everything I was keeping. I’d estimate three-quarters of that room was dishes… which may confirm that I have a slight dishaholic problem. Between my dishes and my mom’s dishes—well, let’s just say there were a lot of memories stacked in cabinets.

The other two bedrooms became my office and sleeping space. The bathroom would serve as my dishwashing station for the next four to six months. And the hallway connecting those rooms? That became my pantry—complete with a microwave and an air fryer, my primary cooking tools for the foreseeable future.

In just four hours, the volunteers cleared everything except the kitchen.

I spent the rest of the night tackling that final room, working until nearly 2:00 a.m., fueled by adrenaline, gratitude, and the awareness that something significant was beginning.

What stood out most in those first days, though, wasn’t the work itself—it was the people who carried it with me.

When I asked for help, I wasn’t sure who would come—or if anyone would. But they did. Friends. Family friends. Members of my church community. People who heard a simple cry for help and responded without hesitation.

Scripture tells us that we are one body—that when one part suffers, every part suffers with it, and when one part rejoices, every part rejoices together. In those hours before demolition began, that truth took on flesh and form. These people became my body. They lifted what I could not lift alone. They steadied me when the weight of it all felt overwhelming. They showed up not because it was convenient, but because love compelled them to.

This is the picture of the Body of Christ as it was always meant to be—not distant, not theoretical, but present, practical, and deeply personal. A community that responds. A community that carries one another. A community that makes room for both the mess and the miracle.

As walls were being cleared and rooms emptied, something else was happening too. Faith was being lived out in real time. What could have been exhausting and lonely became holy—marked by generosity, shared labor, laughter, and deep gratitude.

At 8:00 a.m. the next morning, the demo crew arrived.

Walls came down. Dust filled the air. What had been familiar for years began to change before my eyes. It was loud, messy, and unsettling—and at the same time, deeply right.

This was the beginning of our journey

.

Not just the demolition of a house, but the clearing of space for what is to come.

Welcome to this unfolding journey.

“If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.”— 1 Corinthians 12:26